Class 7 Book II of The Stephanie Beroe Chronicles is the sequel to A Walk in the Park; tells the story of love, revenge and the consequences endured when one chooses a dark path even in the defense of light. Scheduled for Release Dec. 2022

Read an excerpt now.

The hum of the jet is too mild a sedative for the hypertension that’s unsettled every fiber of my body. Tiptoeing through the cabin to the rhythm of a new found headache, the dimmed lights are a saving grace hiding me from the day, life and my new brutal reality. Meeting Danielle at the airport and having her on board is quite the surprise, in a day full of surprises. Her presence is a blatant reminder of the disconnect between me and the man I love. I need a drink, or three.

The bar is small but conveniently located furthest away from our growing entourage, that also includes Aalin, Tyler’s cousin. It’s a strange mix, the tension is thick. You’d think I’d be used to unprecedented wealth by now, having experienced my fair share of jetting around with Miles and Horace, not to mention H.S. and his billionaire cronies last year, but they look like teens with their parent’s credit cards compared to Aalin. I’ve never met anyone so at odds with themselves, and at the same time, so completely confident. I guess that’s what money does, it levels the playing field.

But behind the bar, my sanctuary lies. Tonight, is definitely a whiskey kind of night. Grabbing a glass and a bottle, I sit down, my eyes on the ink black empyrean, but there are no answers for me out there as the sting of whiskey breaks the flood gates; silent tears rippling down my cheek. Using the wall of the plane to hold up my head, a miserable attempt at sub conscience suicide, that tightens my chest as I hear footsteps behind me. Resolutely maintaining isolation, I close my eyes but once they're open, Danielle’s across from me, a tall glass of something in front of her, she rubs her face with both hands. 

She is so many things I wish I could be: strong, resilient, tall! And my lack of faith in my husband, is only magnified by her fealty, it’s nauseatingly shameful. 

Making no attempt at invitation, I watch, her dark beautiful skin glowing in the overhead light until with a long deep breath she quiets herself and locks on.

“Stephanie.”

I say nothing.

Looking down at her glass, gathering her thoughts, she’s strategizing how to play me.

“It’s not what you think.”

Pouring myself another four fingered round, I place the bottle down with the utmost care for fear of hitting her with it; no words survive the bourbon onslaught. I really don’t know what to say. Has she betrayed me? Maybe. Has she lied to me? Yes and no. Torn between dystopian anguish and reason; I’m angry! I’ve been third wheeled! And my husband is a sociopath! Can I blame her? SURE!  But “Now is not the time.” I respond as clear as a bell.

Rising up to her impressive height of six feet she removes her drink from the table, “Ok. But don’t lose faith.”

What the fuck does that mean? How the hell is she so sure? Jesus! Emptying my glass as a bracer, I turn back to the entreaties of Nyx, my one true solace, and let the burning liquid flow.